The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1887-04-24
THE WREATH OF LILIES.
A Posthumous Legend.
BY NINE. GEORGE SAND.
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED IN ANY Lam
GUAGE.
BY NINE. GEORGE SAND.
Translated By Leu Vanderpoole.

ITQNStdte0 OY LEU PUHutfp poOtt
The master said let it be a wreath of ivy
or laurel, but the pupil begged that it might
be wreath of lilies. The laurel, he said,
in his soft, silvery tones, never dies; and the
|ivv in dying takes upon itself beautiful
colors-colors which seem q mockery at
such time. OF the three, only the lily is
ever pure and stainless. as the human soul
should be; and, also, it is only the lily which
1 Ifades, droops and decays in death like the
human body. And, so arguing, Bernardino
won his desire of the great sculptor, Tor
nello
Bernardino was born among the bleak
i Northern quarries where there is only the
absence of art to make one think of art.
There was nothing in his babyhOod to COM
{pensate him for the dirt and debris of the
Equarries, and the incessant din and clatter
pf the drills, sledges and picks of the quar-
<rymen but the few mean little vines and
Flowers which grew in out-of-the-way hooks
und inches where the destroying havoc of
the toilers did not wreak desolation. The
othar little folk Of the quarries were as
rough and coarse as those from whose loins
they were sprung, and their boisterous noise
hurt Bernardlno even more than he was
&hurt by the noise of the quarrymen. They
said and did things which panied and dis
Pressed him, and so he avoided them and
was always apart by himself
Loving the vines and flowers, which, with
the bright sunlight and the ever varying
SKY, were his sole pleasure and happiness,
ne pegan wondering il he could not shape
& |tnelr counterparts out of the fragments of
stone which the quarrymaster condemned
4 as worthless. AT last he tried to cut a bit
4 Oh marble into resemblance of a cluster of
! vine leaves He had only a rude chisel
which one of the iron workers had ham
1nered out OF piece of broken drill, but he
succeeded SO well that it was easy to guess
what his intention had been. He was then
nut little lad Of s years, and yet he was
areaay an unconscious worshiper at the
snrhe OF beauty. In q few years more he
uau attalned fair degree of cleverness, so
% 1%Iuch 80 That he could no longer endure the
Wudgery OF the quarries, where there was
only noise and dirt and lewd jests and
Soaf'e swearing; so, one night, he stole soft
away and walked on and on, never once
suopping, except for an occasional bit of rest
VI 10 beg chunk of brown bread and a
Qg OF or water until he was safe in the City
i NiiCt III rIDTtilcG ne was content,
tesplte his absolute poverty. He knew that
one would ever come thero who had
gs .lGwn him in the quarries, and there was
UTWIn1hg Wn else which he feared or dreaded.
Nhen he fled from the mountains he had
SughI That all would be well with him if
tcould only reach Florence Just how
put himself in position of comfort he
I uoU Know That there was a way he
Ia5 a5 no doubt; if he could only find it. He
Ila never yet been confronted with failure,
SSSauSe he had never yet attempted any
ug beyond his easy reach. But to be
lung and hungry and alone in Florence,
se, u no one to whom he could turn for
'ose 30 and with no trade by which ne could
EH Dread, that was quite another matter.
w.. es,L since ne had not yet learned that there
,orso ,@ grave and dreadful a thing as disap-
S.%Villent Ssra~ IN the world he in his Utter ig-
aalce and unconsciousnesso of life, felt that
rp, as ready to proceed by whatever path
m: was opened to him, never dreaming
IN, r 'iat some pathway would be opened to